


send noods

by soft_witch



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Ben "emotions are SCARY and HARD" Solo, Ben is bad at new people, But they figure it out, Comfort Food, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Minor Finn/Poe/Rose, Modern AU, Multi, Rey is bad at accepting help, Roommates, Soft Ben Solo, Some Humor, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25064986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_witch/pseuds/soft_witch
Summary: If you asked Rey what her favorite food was, it’d definitely be noodles. Specifically, those packets of instant ramen.---------Rey moves in with Ben, who learns some of her comfort food routines, which come in handy when he puts his foot in his mouth.(Now with bonus side chapter!)
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 94





	1. send noods

If you asked Rey what her favorite food was, it’d definitely be noodles. 

Specifically, those packets of instant ramen. They were cheap (between fifty to eighty-nine cents per package, on average); they were easy to carry and hide (the latter being the more serious need when she lived with Plutt); they didn’t need much time to cook (also necessary thanks to Plutt); she could even eat them raw, if need be (by smashing the noodles in the packet into chunks and sprinkle the flavor powder in, like every child with access to instant ramen somehow thought to do). Most importantly, however, she liked being able to stretch one packet into two meals. 

When food was especially scarce, she would cook the noodles only for a minute and a half to keep them chewy. She’d heard once that the more you chewed on something, the fuller you’d feel, and she liked to think that it worked. Once they were done to her satisfaction, Rey would dish up only the noodles, then pour the leftover broth into her thermos. That way, she could keep fed for longer by sipping broth through the day.

Of course, those days were over. But for practicality’s sake-- definitely not sentimentality, she told herself --, she kept that thermos. It was a junky old thing, probably manufactured in the 70s based on the shade of the orange paint that had peeled half-off. Didn’t even keep broth hot for longer than an hour or so. Rey had bought it from a yard sale on her way home from school one day, with pocket money she’d scraped together from coins left in payphones. Her first non-food purchase. 

Finn had been rightly outraged when he’d learned about its origins, why she needed it, what she used it most for. While he’d also grown up in the system, he’d had a (relatively) smoother experience. But growing up in the system also helped him understand why she was so attached to the damn thing. They both knew that stability, any stability at all, was key. 

When Rey was having a tough time, she would make her noodles like she always did, old thermos in tow. They started living together in college, when there were tough times aplenty. Then after graduation, the tough times continued in the typical “young college grads in their early twenties in the city” way. As a result, Finn became very, very acquainted with Rey’s old habits, those food quirks that she’d clung to despite the fact that they were both stable, living together.

It became somewhat of a -- not quite a “joke” joke, but a joke all the same. 

At first, Finn gave her a sticker that read “send noods” with a picture of a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. Rey thought it was cute, so she stuck it to her thermos. Then for Christmas a couple years later, he gifted her an oversized hoodie with the same image. She rolled her eyes and laughed, but it turned out to be gloriously comfortable, so she wore it around the apartment nearly every chance she got. Sometimes, Finn also convinced her to send pictures of noodles to the bottom-feeders she encountered on dating apps when they demanded nude photos from her. 

For all his teasing, though, she knew it came from a place of love. They’d found each other, and made the best home they could make together. 

Until Finn met Rose. 

And then Finn and Rose met Poe. 

And when Finn and Rose and Poe decided to move in together, suddenly, Rey found herself needing a new place to live. 

Poe suggested that since he was vacating a room from a much nicer apartment, she should move into his room. Which meant, moving in with his roommate Ben (“You’ll love him, he’s a big cuddly brute,” Poe said). 

Ben, whom she’d met a couple times before when Finn invited her to hang with his partners at Poe’s place; Ben, the first person she’d met who could be intensely silent; Ben, whose penetrating gaze and pouty mouth caused her to short-circuit the first time she’d seen him. 

At least, until he opened that obscene mouth of his, and proved himself to be a complete ass.

But she’d had worse. 

So she took the room.

To say that it was a rough adjustment would be a gross understatement — “hostile living environment” would have been more like it. Every little thing she did prompted him to shoot her a smart-assed remark about how she could be doing it better, or was wasting her time even trying. Rey, being the fighter that she was, bit back at every chance she could. If he was so determined to drive her away so quickly, then she wasn’t sure why he’d even agreed to it in the first place. She tried not to bother Finn with too much of it; he was off living in paradise with his two loving partners, she didn’t need to burden him with her roommate squabbles.

After just a week and a half, though, she couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching loneliness that had seeped into her bones. Maybe if she’d felt like she could go to Finn it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the one-two punch of losing him and gaining high-and-mighty Ben had worn her down much quicker than she’d hoped. Rey was truly happy for Finn, she was. She knew that he wasn’t really gone from her life completely, but… it just wasn’t the same. 

Two weeks exactly after moving in, the fear that her friendship with Finn would never be the same again turned her stomach and frayed her nerves. She’d barely eaten that day because of it. Later that night, she lied awake in bed; try as she might, she couldn’t sleep. Rey wanted to tell herself that it was the early summer thunderstorm outside keeping her up, but she knew better. Every time she closed her eyes, her grief and anxiety bubbled up to the surface, ripping through her chest. 

She needed to leave. She’d apologize to her new landlord for breaking her lease with Ben so quickly, but something had to give. Maybe once she resettled she’d interrogate Poe on what exactly Ben’s deal was. 

But that was a problem for Tomorrow Rey. 

For now, she needed a change of scenery. She hated staring at this unfamiliar ceiling.

Without bothering to look at the clock (no point in stressing herself out about how many hours of sleep she’d lost out on), she pushed herself out of bed and threw on some soft leggings and her “send noods” hoodie. Some midnight noodles might help calm her, she mused, stepping out of her room towards the kitchen. 

On her way, though, something in the living room caught her eye. She paused. 

It was Ben. He was stretched out on half the couch, lying on his back with his legs dangling over the curved armrest, feet idly kicking into the side. His arm was slung over his eyes, and the window was open to let in the sounds of the storm outside. The only light in the apartment spilled in through the window from the streetlights outside. There was no telling how long he’d been out there like that, but given that he was only wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants, he clearly wasn’t able to sleep either. 

She couldn’t tell if he’d heard her emerge, or if he’d just sensed her, but he drew his arm away from his face and turned to look at her. His brows drew together. After what seemed like an eternity, he muttered, “You too, huh?” 

Rey chewed on the inside of her bottom lip for a moment before nodding. 

Ben’s jaw moved, like he was doing the same. Another beat passed, and then he swung his legs over the armrest to sit upright. Moving over to the couch’s left side, he gestured for her to come sit on the other end. 

She considered him for a moment. Whatever tension she normally felt from him was gone, washed away in the rain. He didn’t seem like he meant any harm -- and besides, she’d be gone soon enough. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to come away with a weird story to laugh about with Finn once the dust settled. 

Giving a slight nod, she padded over to join him on the couch. She curled up against the right armrest, tucking her legs up underneath her. For a few moments, they sat in silence, letting the babble of the rain and occasional rumble of thunder act as a buffer between them. The white noise soothed Rey, and she felt herself zone out before hearing Ben take a deep breath. 

He exhaled. “I’m not… good… with new people,” he muttered.

“You don’t say,” she deadpanned. 

Ben winced, but didn’t respond. 

A flash of lightning cut through the night. As it illuminated the room, she could see Ben with his shoulders hunched in, still worrying the inside of his cheek. He was being honest, then, about his discomfort. Anxiety? 

“I miss Finn,” she admitted. “We’d lived together for so long.” Rey took in a shaky breath. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“You’re not alone.”

Surprised, she lifted her eyes to Ben’s face. His expression was much softer now, much more open; he looked younger this way. And yet, soft as his expression was, the piercing, determined look in his eyes made her feel truly seen for the first time in a long time.

For a brief moment, she saw the same loneliness in him too. 

“Neither are you,” it spurred her to reply. Reaching a cautious hand out, she set it down next to him on the couch.

In maybe an unconscious reflex, Ben initially pulled his hand closer to himself, fingers curled inward. But then he placed his hand next to hers, so close, only a shadow between them. A small thrill ran down her spine as she heard another roll of thunder.

Feeling more at ease now, Rey snuggled into the couch (careful not to move her hand) and closed her eyes. They stayed there in companionable silence, not quite touching, until she fell asleep. When she awoke, she found herself alone but covered by a blanket that wasn’t hers.

So she stayed.

After that, things between them smoothed out a bit. They never did talk about those first two weeks, or that night on the couch, but she could tell that he was making more of an effort to rein in his anxiety instead of throwing it at her. For her part, she tried to be more open with him, and learn more about him in return, figuring it might ease the transition. Rey knew it wasn’t her job to manage his feelings; she fully intended on letting him be an ass if he was so inclined (which sometimes he still was). But she knew that she and Finn succeeded by working together, and she wanted living with Ben to work too. 

Soon enough, a full month passed without a full-blown argument. They even had started casually hanging out here and there -- Ben joining her for a weekend trash TV binge (“Can’t believe you watch this crap,” being muttered 5 hours in), Rey sitting down for dinner with him if he accidentally made too much pasta (“Ben, this is the third time this week, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear you’re doing this on purpose!”). If they did bicker, it was mostly toothless, and usually ended with Rey rolling her eyes. 

By the time the housewarming party for Finn, Rose, and Poe rolled around, they’d fallen into a comfortable groove. Rey felt proud of having collaborated on a suitable gift with only a little arguing (“She insisted on a plant, but there’s no way in hell I’d give you three matching Chia Pets,” Ben grumbled, pushing a pot with three succulents into Poe’s hands), and settled into the party like a warm bath after a long day. As she chatted and caught up with Finn, she would occasionally catch Ben’s eye. Every time, he would give her a shy grin. 

And every time, Finn and Rose would share a conspiratorial glance.

After it ended, Poe walked them to the door and told her, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but this is the fastest that I’ve ever seen Ben warm up to anyone. Including me. Asshole hated me for almost a whole year!”

“But Poe, you make it so easy,” Ben joked, winking at Rey as she tried not to laugh. 

She could get used to this. 

A couple months later brought the beginning of fall, and with it a chill in the air. Work had been fine, but Rey was always disappointed to see the sun set earlier and earlier in the day. It was a Friday night, a gloomy and damp one she was glad to spend at home since Finn was out with his babes. Shrugging on her favorite hoodie, she put in earphones, turned on some bright tunes, and started making noodles. 

As she separated the noodles from the broth and pulled her old thermos from the cupboard, she heard a noise from behind her. Probably Ben. She removed one earbud. “Hm?”

“I said, isn’t that supposed to be a soup?” He had one eyebrow raised as he pointed at her pot. 

Rey shrugged. “Probably. This is how I eat it, though.” 

“Really.” 

She sighed, and shot him a look. “Long story. Don’t really want to get into it.” 

He took the hint, and turned his attention to her thermos as she poured the broth in. “That thing looks old enough to be your grandpa. Does it even keep things hot for that long?” 

Rey shrugged again. “Not really? But it’s fine, it does the trick.” 

“You know they still make those, right?” Ben was smirking at her, but it lacked any real venom. “They keep hot things hot and everything.” 

“Sure, but this one’s mine.” She headed back for her room with noods and broth in hand. “And I like my things,” she said, closing her door pointedly. 

Rey didn’t see him again until late in the next afternoon; she was curled up on the couch reading when he entered the apartment. Errands, she guessed from the paper shopping bags he held as he kicked off his shoes. 

“Hey!” he greeted, peeling off his jacket and hanging it up. “Got you something.” 

She furrowed her brow. “What for?” 

“Just ‘cause,” he said. Digging into one of the bags, he pulled something out and tossed it to her. “Catch.” 

Rey dropped the book into her lap as she brought up her hands to catch the flash of yellow that streaked towards her. It was a thermos. 

A very new, very expensive looking thermos. 

Instantly suspicious, she set her book and the thermos down on the coffee table. “Ben, what is that?” 

“I, uh, thought it was pretty obvious,” he answered, confusion playing across his face. “I figured you could use a new one.” 

Something in his tone set her on edge. “But I said my old one was fine,” she shot back, standing. 

“Sure,” he agreed, “but--” 

“I thought I’d made it clear that I like mine.” She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. 

“I know,” Ben conceded, “but Rey, I just thought--” 

And maybe it was something in the air, she wasn’t sure, but she was brought back to the arguments they’d had when she first moved in. Something in her snapped. “But what, Ben? You just thought that you knew what’s better for me than even I do? Or that poor little Rey would be just so appreciative of your pity?” she spat. 

His face fell, looking as shocked as he might have if she’d physically slapped him. “What, no, I -- is that what you think this is? Pity?” 

Rey blinked in surprise. From the way their previous arguments had gone she expected him to rise to her level of anger and push back with equal force. 

She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected the way his jaw worked behind his closed lips; the way his shoulders shook as he inhaled deeply; the way his eyes shone just a touch more wetly than they had a moment ago. 

She hadn’t expected him to look so… sad. Hurt.

A chilly wave washed over her and nestled itself into a ball in her stomach. “If it’s not pity, then, what is it?” Rey demanded.

Ben opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. If it had been a happier conversation, she might have teased him by saying his speechlessness was a first. Instead, she was silent as his eyes searched her face for answers of his own. 

He swallowed, and tried again. “I --,” he began, voice thick with something Rey didn’t recognize. In a move that seemed almost involuntary, he reached a hand out towards her. 

Her eyes flicked down to his outstretched hand, and as she did so, the cold ball in her stomach clenched. Without another word, she pivoted on her heel and fled to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

Rey leaned back against the door, breath ragged. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she replayed the last part of their argument in her head. She knew he could be vulnerable; he proved it to her, that night two weeks after she moved in with him. But this felt different, somehow. Deeper. Like she’d cut him, except she wasn’t even sure what she’d managed to do it with.

The darkest, most cynical part of her mind -- the part that had kept her sharp enough to survive her worst years -- floated the idea that maybe his wounded look had been some sort of a ploy. Earn her trust, use it against her later.

The noise of footsteps coming toward her startled her away from that train of thought. Rey slowly turned her head, pressing her ear against the door. She tried to listen for any other sounds that would give Ben’s intent away, but after a few beats the only thing she heard was a quiet sigh and his retreat. The knot in her stomach clutched at her; she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. 

It would be easier to believe that he was playing her, she mused as she slid down the door to sit in front of it. She hugged her knees to her chest. It would be easier, yes -- but it didn’t seem like it was the truth. 

What the truth was, she didn’t know.

But his last words rattled around her skull. Her thumb idly traced her own bottom lip as she remembered the tiny quiver in his lips as his eyes searched her face.

Resting her head on her knees, she wondered why she even cared this much. 

Some time later, a gentle knock brought her back to her current situation. “Rey?” 

Her head snapped up. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there on the floor, but she guessed that it had been some time (and that she’d nodded off), given how dark her room was. Rey stretched her limbs out and massaged her sore neck. Falling asleep while sitting on the floor would come back to haunt her tomorrow. 

Based on the way the light shone through the bottom of the door, she could tell that Ben was standing there. Before she could answer, though, she heard him set something on the floor. He walked away, but came back after a few moments. A note slipped through under her door. Curious, she picked it up and read: 

_I’m sorry. I’ve sent noods. Please eat soon?_

Sent noods?

She checked under her door again. Whatever he’d set down was still there, but he was not. Rey stood, turned on the light in her room, and quietly opened the door. 

On the floor just outside her room’s threshold sat a tray with a bowl of ramen noodles, sans broth, and a fork. Next to that, she saw a thermos -- her ugly old orange thermos. Ben himself was nowhere to be seen.

It did not escape her attention that this was the second time that night that he had come after her. 

And not only had he come back to check on her, he had gone to the effort of 1) making her comfort meal 2) in the exact way she preferred.

Glancing toward his bedroom, she saw it was closed, and that only a dim light showed underneath. It was probably his bedside lamp, rather than the main overhead light. 

Rey weighed her options. Ultimately, she decided against going to bother him. He was probably tired anyway, and besides, her noodles were getting cold, she reasoned. She picked up the tray, and with a final glance towards Ben’s door, sealed herself back into her room. 

The next morning, Rey emerged from her room with her post-noodle dishes. Ben still didn’t seem to be up. Putting her dishes in the sink gently enough to not make too much noise, she thought making coffee might be a good peace offering. 

Although she had brought a (in her mind) decent enough coffee maker with her when she moved in, Ben swore by his french press. Something about how the oils are extracted, he’d said. She had to reach on her tiptoes to bring it out of the cupboard, but she found his press. He’d (per his usual) lectured her once on his grinder’s superiority -- he insisted that it was the only “proper” grinder for this brew method -- but (per her usual) she was too busy rolling her eyes at his coffee-based self-righteousness to pay too close attention. 

A quick google search told her what she needed to know, though, and soon enough she had grounds in the press. The one trick from Ben’s lecture that she did remember was to only pour enough water to just barely cover all the grounds (at two hundred degrees, mind you), gently stir them, then let them brew for thirty seconds before adding the rest of the water. She knew that if anyone asked her about it, the answer would be a shrug and, “He just likes it that way.”

And for now, that was the important part.

Surely summoned by the coffee aroma, the door to Ben’s room opened right as the (exactly four minute) timer for his coffee went off; she pushed down the plunger on the press. He must have been surprised to see her using his things, but he gave no indication of it as he greeted her. Rey traced her eyes over him briefly as he leaned against the doorframe, only a little jealous at how his bed head was perfectly tousled. Despite how the previous evening had gone, he seemed reasonably happy to see her. Which was to say, his shoulders were hunched slightly, but he didn’t seem as unhappy to see her as she’d feared. 

He didn’t step beyond the threshold of his room, though.

All of a sudden, for a reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on, making eye contact with him overwhelmed her. Her ears burned as she returned to the task at hand. Rey felt his eyes on her as she moved to grab his favorite mug (glossy, black, cracks filled with gold lacquer) from the drying rack. Unbidden, her traitorous stomach gave a funny little flip as she poured the coffee -- it was the same color as his eyes. 

Taking a small step toward him, she offered him the mug. “Here. For you.” 

Ben closed the gap. Reaching out, he bent his fingers at unnatural angles in an attempt to not touch her as he took her offering. Their fingers brushed anyway. Rey almost didn’t notice how his shoulders tensed at their accidental touch; she only realized it when his eyes caught hers and his posture softened after finding no animosity from her. 

He held her gaze as he took a sip. “Thanks. It’s good,” he mused, “better than usual.” 

Rey snorted in playful disbelief. “Really? What’s the difference?” 

As it usually did when he thought about a response, his jaw worked behind his closed mouth. It was like he was chewing on his options, tasting them. After what she swore was an eternity later, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly as he said simply: 

“You.”

Her stomach flipped again. 

The knot from last night back now as well, and it clutched at her too-fast heart. She gave him what she hoped was a noncommittal shrug. “It was my pleasure.” 

In an attempt to break whatever spell had been cast over them to stretch the seconds into hours and turn the air into molasses, she crossed the apartment and curled up next to an armrest on the couch. When she saw that Ben hadn’t followed, she tilted her head and patted the couch cushion next to her as an invitation. Ducking his head in acknowledgement, he came to join her, coffee in hand. Once he settled, Rey gazed into his eyes and placed her left hand palm down next to his right on the cushion, hoping that he would remember what she was trying to invoke. 

He did. Of course he did, she thought, watching as he set his coffee on the floor and purposefully planted his empty hand next to hers, ensuring that their pinkies were aligned just so. His touch was a ghost. She turned to stare straight ahead then, feeling silly to dare think that he could have forgotten that late night they shared all those months ago. 

They sat in silence for a few moments. The air was still heavy and thick, but somehow not oppressive. Swallowing her pride, Rey said, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Ben shook his head. “No. Please don’t feel sorry about that.” 

“Never said I did,” she teased. 

She heard him let out a huff, amused. “Fair.” 

“But,” she admitted, “I still shouldn’t have treated you that way. You were just trying to help.” Nervous, she fidgeted her fingers lightly against the couch fabric. “It’s just something that I’ve held onto since I was little. It’s not even like I really like the stupid old thing, it just… it’s one of the first things I could really call ‘mine’.”

Ben pushed his hand closer to hers at that, shifting so that the edges of their hands were fully flush, and her skin alighted like she’d touched a downed power line. “Rey,” he murmured, “you don’t owe me any explanation. It’s my fault, really.” With his other hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was… too focused on what I wanted for you, that I forgot to listen for what you wanted. I’m sorry.”

The reply she thought she would need died in her throat, surprised as she was by his turn of phrase. Her breath hitched as she asked, “What you wanted for me?”

She felt him tremble where their hands touched. “I think… I want to take care of you, Rey,” he confessed, and his voice was thick as it had been the night before. “I want to make you happy. I’d like to learn how, if you’ll teach me.”

Her head swiveled to face him, and she nearly regretted it. Because now, she could see the depth of his emotion, the warmth in his eyes — emotions that she hadn’t considered that were possible for him, especially not towards her. Rey drowned in it, relishing the feeling of it. She supposed she should be terrified of having his trademark intensity turned toward her like this; the longer she stared, the better it felt, and maybe that was most terrifying of all.

“Why?” she whispered, throat dry.

Ben’s expression, already so gentle, brightened as the corner of his mouth pulled upward in a lopsided smile. “Because you make me happy, Rey.” 

“Drowning” suddenly didn’t cover it. Her heart threatened to burst through her chest as she fought to stay upright against his silent maelstrom of affection. Desperate for a lifeline, she wrapped her pinky around his and squeezed. Voice just barely above a whisper, she said, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Relief flooded his features. The shine in his eyes was the brightest she’d ever seen. 

Rey nodded as the beginning of a smile flitted across her mouth. “Yeah. Okay. You might have to send more noods, though,” she quipped, squeezing her finger around his again. 

Ben quirked up an eyebrow at her. “For breakfast?” 

She let out a breathy chuckle, and the atmospheric pressure eased with her exhale. “I suppose we should start with a more traditional breakfast, then. Something with syrup?” Extricating herself from the couch, Rey tugged on their joined hands to urge him to follow her to the kitchen. 

“I think I can make that happen,” he said, bending to scoop up his coffee mug on his way. 

After a couple steps, though, he stilled. Rey looked back at him, curious. 

Ben cleared his throat. “Just to avoid any further, ah, misunderstandings,” he started, “you did mean…?” As he trailed off, he gestured between the both of them with his coffee cup. 

In response, Rey drew close enough to him that she had to glance through her eyelashes to see his face. Then she laid her free hand on his shoulder, raised herself up onto her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his plush lips. It was chaste, but she hoped that he understood her intent anyway.

He did. Of course he did. 

She sighed as he kissed her back, the straight line between their bodies curving as they melted into each other. Ben captured her bottom lip in his, eliciting a small, pleased gasp from her. He was bitter from the coffee but to her he may as well have tasted like honey. But, as she was genuinely hungry, she pulled away slowly; his lips chased after hers, and she already missed the feel and taste of him.

He smiled then, a true smile that showed off his charmingly uneven teeth. Rey was amazed at just how… giddy he looked. She couldn’t help but shoot him a goofy little grin of her own.

Rocking back on his heels a little, he squeezed her pinky with his own. “Breakfast, then.”


	2. a side order of noods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ben, this is the third time this week, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear you’re doing this on purpose!”
> 
> Ben accidentally learns that food is Rey's preferred love language.

The first time it happened, it wasn’t exactly an “accident”, per se. 

In the kitchen, Ben was orderly to a fault. There had been more than one occasion in which he had overestimated his ability to multitask, and almost let something burn because he was taking too long adjusting ensuring that his scale read exactly X-number of grams all the way out to the third decimal place. To him, the kitchen was the one place he could have total control, perfection, no more mistakes. 

He’d already made enough of them in the past. 

So it was less of a mistake in the sense that he’d measured his ingredients improperly, and more in the sense that it had been too long since Ben had handmade pasta and forgot just how much the recipe yielded. 

It was the first Saturday he’d had free in a while, and wanted to make something nice for himself — which, to be honest, he still had a hard time feeling like he actually deserved (but “fake it till you make it” might as well be his family motto for all the times he heard it growing up). Having left work a little early the day before, Ben rushed to a hole-in-the-wall specialty deli before it closed. He already had everything else he needed at home, but if he was going to spend his day making the pasta he needed to then make carbonara, then at the very least he could spring for actual guanciale. 

Now, having made said pasta, Ben stood at the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, covered in flour, staring at the irritatingly huge pile of the stuff. He’d gone in assuming that he’d freeze whatever was left over, but even this much would take up too much space. Clearly, this recipe had been meant to feed at least two people. Ben huffed. He should have caught on to that sooner and adjusted accordingly, but he’d been too caught up in the process (which was, admittedly, soothingly repetitive) to notice.

“Ben,” Rey’s voice cut in from behind him, “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life or anything, but I am somewhat certain that glaring at pasta won’t actually cook it.” 

He startled so bad he almost thought his own skeleton was trying to escape him. “Jesus, Rey!” How long had she been there? “Uh— hi?” 

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear me come home just now?”

Ben shook his head. Could she hear his pulse blasting through his chest, too?

“Oh! Well.” Rey shot him a shy little smile, and clutched at the strap of her sports bag. “Sorry.” She went off toward her room; by the look of her, she had just come back from the gym. Ben heard her drop her bag, then rifle through her drawers. Coming back out of her room with a fresh change of clothes in hand, she asked, “Do… you need any help with that,” and here she waved her hand at his mountain of pasta, “or should I go shower and leave you to your carbo brooding?”

“I, uh—” Would she actually help him? Their truce was still— (five weeks and two days to the day—)

It was fresh. New. 

“New” meant “fragile”.

He’d already made mistakes with her. A great deal of them, in fact, which he still regretted. And if their friendliness was “new”, then that meant it still had time to go before it became “old”, which left him plenty of room for more mistakes. More hurt, that he could cause.

But as he met her eyes, all he could see was her teasing yet warm grin, her bright face framed by curled wisps of hair that had escaped its bun. 

It made him anxious somehow — just not in the usual way.

Before he could change his mind, he blurted out, “Actually, yeah. Well,” he cleared his throat, “I just made too much, that’s all. If you wanted, there’d be plenty extra for you.” Ben re-crossed his arms in a way that he hoped was casual enough. “If you wanted, that is.” 

Rey’s gentle grin turned downright wolfish. “You’re on. In return for my services, however, I must insist on choosing tonight’s entertainment.” 

“Entertainment?” 

“Well,” she replied, looking down to pick at a stray thread on the clothing in her hands, “I just figured that whatever that is on the counter looks fancy as hell, which means it’s going to be delicious, so we might as well make a night of it and watch a movie or something.” 

He inhaled sharply. She… wanted to spend time with him?

While it was true that he had crashed her terrible tv binge session the weekend before, and she’d seemed to have an okay time, he’d assumed that she saw it the same as he did: Her gracious tolerance of his awkward invasion of her time. Ben had anticipated that she’d take dinner in her room, or maybe make polite conversation at the table before fleeing. Rey’s suggestion that they make a night of it was far, far beyond all the outcomes to this evening that he’d considered. 

(She wanted to spend time with him!)

Ben’s jaw loosened, lips parting just a touch. “I— yeah, that… sounds nice.” The corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile.

Rey beamed back at him before bounding off into the bathroom. “No take-backs, ‘kay?” she called as she shut the door. He heard the shower turn on, so he got to work.

This, he could understand. Everything in cooking had its place, its purpose. Ben had always heard that cooking was the art and baking was the science, but that wasn’t necessarily true. Heat could still be applied in many different ways, and the shape and material of the pans used had an effect as well. Hell, even the size of your salt grains had an effect on their taste. If you put it all together, timed it just right, and managed not to screw it up, then it was the culinary equivalent of an epic concerto (this explanation being one that he gave to Poe exactly once before Poe teased him about it). 

By the time Rey was done with her shower — which he could have sworn was the fastest shower he’d ever noticed her to take — he was mixing the eggs and cheese for the sauce after crisping the pork and setting it aside in a bowl. After she tossed something into her room, Rey came over and hoisted herself up to sit on the counter next to him.

“What are you making, anyway?” she asked. Her hand inched toward the bowl of sliced guanciale until a look from him stilled it. 

“Carbonara.”

“Ooh, fancy.” 

Ben snorted. “Not really.” 

She fixed him with a cool, even glance. “Fancier than I’ve ever been able to afford for the vast majority of my life.”

He dipped his head in her direction. “Fair.” Pasta water now boiling, he turned away for only half a second to plop the noodles in, but it was still more than enough time for Rey to snatch a piece of meat and toss it into her mouth. “Hey!”

Rey snickered, sticking her tongue out at him. Ben narrowed his eyes at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand ever so slowly creep back towards the bowl; his fingers twitched in response. When her hand dashed forward he moved to slap her hand away, but he was a hair too late — she cackled her victory and chomped on her stolen prize. Despite his defeat, Ben couldn’t help but chuckle, just a little.

He tried not to look as she licked an errant drop of oil that had dripped down the side of her hand, but then Rey’s eyes met his. The tips of his ears were hot and he suppressed his old habit of pressing his hair down over them as he turned away. It was time to strain the pasta anyway. 

“Seriously though,” Rey commented, “that bacon’s real damn good. Where’d you find it?”

Ben turned off the burner, then used a measuring glass to save some of the pasta water. “First of all,” he started, straining the pasta, “it’s _guanciale_ , not bacon. Salt-cured pork jowl. Bacon is pork belly.” He transferred the bit of pasta water he’d saved into the pan that cooked the pork, then dumped the pasta in. “And I got it from a specialty place run by a tiny old nonna who looked like she could still tan my hide if she wanted.” Turning the burner back on, he mixed the pasta with the water and remaining pork fat.

He chose to ignore Rey’s eye roll. “Jowl, belly, it’s a cured pork product, it’s bacon,” she insisted. 

Now that the pasta was well and truly cooked (while still staying nice and firm), he finally added in the eggy sauce and meat. “Keep telling yourself that,” he muttered, stirring the pan’s contents. “But this is done, so if you wanted to pick out a movie or something, that’d be great. Just maybe not something with that one guy?” 

Rey hopped down from the counter and made her way into the living room. “What guy?”

“The one with the hair,” he replied, dishing up carbonara. 

“Ah, yes! Too bad we made a deal, Solo.”

Ben tried not to sigh too loudly as he brought their dishes into the living room. “Wine?” 

“Is it fancy wine?” Rey asked, eyes shining with excitement and tracking his movements as he set their bowls on the coffee table.

He opened his mouth to explain that he was thinking of pairing dinner with a gamay noir he’d happened to receive in his monthly subscription from that hip little wine cafe down the street, then closed it again when her eyes flicked hopefully up to his. “Yes,” is what he settled on. 

Doubling back into the kitchen, he returned with the bottle and two glasses to find Rey already chowing down. Ben joined her on the couch, then poured a glass for Rey and slid it to her. As he did, he noticed what she’d picked to watch. “That one? Your guy’s not in that one, I thought.”

“He’s not,” came her reply around a mouthful of pasta. She shrugged. “I figured you did cook for us, so I should probably go easy on you.”

The corners of his mouth turned up again as he finished pouring his own glass. “I see. How kind.” He was about to start eating when Rey’s glass entered his view.

“Cheers,” she offered.

Raising his glass, he clinked it gently against hers. “Cheers.” They sipped the crisp wine, and for a moment their gazes met over glass rims.

Rey dove back into her pasta. “You make some damn fine noods, fancy boy. Ready for this?”

“Ready.” He grinned, and settled into the rest of their evening.

The second time it happened, a couple days later, it was entirely her fault. It had to have been. There was simply no other explanation. 

Yes, his roommate had been physically incapacitated, but it was still her fault.

When he’d got home that night, Ben was not surprised to see that Rey had beat him there, as she often did. He was still working on the “not submitting your entire existence to your job” thing, but it was difficult not to feel like his value decreased every time he left work on time. (Turns out, trying to completely reverse your views on the world and yourself was hard. Who knew?)

What did surprise him was the sight of Rey lying on her side on the couch, clutching a heating pad to her torso while she watched tv (and in that “noods” hoodie he’d learned was part of her “comfort collection”, no less). “Hey,” she called out, voice smaller than he liked. 

“Hey yourself,” he replied, walking over to the couch and perching on the armrest at her feet. “What’d you do?” 

“I was born.” 

Brows drawing together, Ben noticed her press the heating pad lower. “Cramps?”

“The worst!” she grumbled. “I tried to tough it out, but my boss caught me cringing and told me to leave an hour early, never mind the project deadline.” Rey raised her head to glare at him. “And before you dare lecture me, I am well aware that ‘it’s not healthy to push yourself when you’re unwell’ or whatever the absolute shit, but I want it on record that it’s not my fault if the client’s unhappy. They’re real dickheads.”

He snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m too busy trying to lecture myself on that one.”

“Good.” She flopped back down, messy hair splayed out behind her. “Need me to move?” 

Ben slipped off the armrest. “Nah. I should make something to eat, leave you to your idiot ghost hunters.” He started to make his way towards his room, planning to change, but stopped and swung back around. “You… okay, though? Need anything?”

Rey shook her head. “I’m fine, took some midol a bit ago, just waiting for it to kick in. I’ll make something for myself once I feel better.” She smiled, albeit a little weakly. “Thanks, though.” 

He was unconvinced, but nodded anyway. “Sure.” 

After changing into some comfier clothes, Ben set about mincing garlic and chopping onion for a basic red sauce. Even though he’d just had pasta on Saturday, it was quick enough to make again, and besides that something comforting sounded nice. He couldn’t quite name it, but even after coming home something still felt off. The lights were on, but it still wasn’t bright enough; the air felt a little heavier than usual. As he added ingredients to his saucepan and turned on the burner, he snuck a quick peek back at Rey. She seemed a little more relaxed than when he’d first gotten home, not curled up quite as tensely, and was actually starting to snicker a bit at the panicked shouts coming from the tv. 

Apparently she hadn’t lied when she said she’d be fine. 

Not that he was worried, or anything.

While he waited for his sauce to simmer, he leaned back against the counter and idly browsed the internet on his phone. It was purely because he needed to stay close to the stove and stir every so often, of course, not because the angle was perfect for keeping an eye on Rey without seeming too overbearing. Eventually, he saw her start to stretch out a little more, laugh a little more loudly each time. By the time the sauce was just about ready, and he’d put water on to boil, she was full-on cackling at whatever stupidity was onscreen.

She said she’d make herself something once she felt better, which surely was right about now? Stepping to the fridge and opening the freezer, Ben eyed the individual portions of pasta he’d frozen from Saturday. If she wasn’t feeling well, he mused, and it had been a while since she ate, then clearly she would be quite hungry (because she ate like a horse, but in a good way) — which meant he needed —

Ben blinked. Somehow, he’d thrown three portions into the pot. He’d only meant to grab one. 

Weird. 

(Did Rey have mind powers?)

No reason to let it go to waste, though, he supposed. Of course there was always the option of keeping some as leftovers, but Rey had seemed pleased on Saturday, and surely she would appreciate another meal tonight, right? Especially when she was down for the count?

But, again, not that he was seriously worried, or anything. 

A few minutes later, everything was ready, so he made his way back into the living room with a bowl of pasta, fork, and glass of water for Rey. As he set them down on the coffee table in front of her, her eyes grew wide. Before he could say anything, she snapped her eyes to his. 

“Ben,” she whispered, solemn as he’d ever heard her. 

An unfamiliar flush crept up the back of his neck, and he froze, still half-bent over. “What?” He let his eyes roam her face, desperate for a clue about her thoughts. 

Achingly slowly, Rey shifted until she was fully sitting up. She kept her gaze pinned to his, and her eyes widened further as she scooted forward to sit on the edge of the cushion. His heart raced as she leaned in closer. A lock of hair fell loose and brushed against his eyelashes, but he dared not move.

“Ben,” she murmured again. 

He swallowed. She was close. Very close. The closest she’d been to him since… “Yes?” 

“...Do I have mind powers or something?” Rey’s face split into a wildly delighted expression. “Seriously, I didn’t realize how starved I was, I’ve been smelling this from across the apartment, smells _amazing_ —”

Honestly, Ben was shocked that his legs didn’t just completely give out on him as he caught back up with reality. He forced himself to expel the breath that had caught in his throat. “It’s really no problem, made too much again,” he muttered as he beat a hasty retreat back into the kitchen. Heart still rattling around in his chest, Ben gripped the counter and tried not to think about what had just happened. 

“You’re coming back in here, right?” Rey called between bites. “We both know you secretly enjoy these idiots.” 

Well. She wasn’t wrong, necessarily.

He let himself have three deep breaths, then grabbed his own dinner and sank down on his end of the couch (praying that she didn’t notice he’d served her more than he’d served himself). “I do like the more skeptical one.”

Rey let out a snort of a laugh. “It’s ‘cause he’s tall and cranky, like you.” 

Ben stabbed at his pasta with a fork. “What, like that’s a bad thing?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her consider him for a moment before she grinned again and her nose crinkled in a way that was (but he absolutely did not want to admit to it) adorable. “Nah.” 

Placated, he turned his attention to the tv. They watched in silence for a bit. Ben had learned that this was one of Rey’s go-to picks: Amateur paranormal investigators who were more often frightened by their own shadows more than anything. One of them, anyway. 

“Ben?”

“Yeah?” He turned toward Rey.

She smiled, and it was warm and kind and more than he deserved. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at her, if only a little. “You’re welcome.”

The room seemed brighter again.

Maybe she’d turned on some lights when he wasn’t looking.

The third time it happened that week, it almost didn’t. 

It had been a long, stressful day at work, which meant it was also a low-appetite day for Ben (something — he told himself for the countless time — his therapist had confirmed was normal with anxiety). When he got home that evening, he knew logically that it was time to eat, but he felt neither emotional desire nor physical need for food; the reminder that “food is necessary” pricked at the back of his mind. He stuck a spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth just to shut it up.

Rey wasn’t home yet. Ben was even home an hour late, and she still wasn’t there. She’d mentioned a deadline earlier in the week, maybe that was keeping her. He wondered if her cramps were any better by now, or if she was overworking herself like she’d threatened. It wasn’t quite right without her there; it was quiet, and dull. 

Or, maybe that was the tail end of his nerves talking. Although he was now home, and the bulk of his heart-pounding stress was gone, Ben was still bristling, on-edge. Everything was too much. (On his way home, a pigeon cooed at him too loudly and he’d glared at it until it waddled away from him.) Maybe it was good that Rey wasn’t home, she wouldn’t have to deal with him being like this. No, thinking like that wouldn’t do him any good. Rubbing his eyes, he figured he should probably right himself before wandering into any further anxieties. 

Had he even had any water that day? He couldn’t remember. It felt like something Poe would scold him for. Pulling a glass from the cupboard, he filled it to the rim from the tap and drained it in two gulps.Then he filled it again, and drank it a bit more slowly. That helped, a bit. If Ben ever admitted to Poe that his advice (real or imagined) was helpful, he’d never hear the end of it.

Frazzled edges softened somewhat, Ben leaned against the kitchen counter and considered his options. Going for a run would probably give him the endorphins he needed to mellow out the rest of the way, but his mind was nothing but the white noise of tv static. Didn’t seem safe to go back out like that. No run, then. He needed to ground himself; he opted for changing into his favorite joggers, a soft tee, and a light zip-up hoodie. Not that he was cold — it was actually a rather warm evening. It was more the comfort factor, than anything. Somehow, he was always surprised at how something so simple as changing into soft clothes could be so soothing; he’d shed his unnecessary performative layer and now could simply allow himself to be.

Ben still wasn’t hungry. Especially not after peanut butter and copious amounts of water. 

So he shuffled over to the couch, plonked down on the armrest, and let himself fall backwards onto the cushions. With his arm draped over his eyes to block out light, he laid still and tried to focus only on breathing deeply with his diaphragm. After what felt like quite a long while, he had to admit that he felt much more calm. He dug his phone out of his pocket, and peeked out from under his arm to check the time since Rey still wasn’t home yet. Maybe she’d be back soon?

Only five minutes had passed. 

He huffed. 

Well, then. What to do? He spared a glance at the tv, but finding something to watch on streaming felt like too big of a chore, too much effort at the moment. Rey was always watching random videos on her phone — she seemed like she had fun with it, surely it would do something for him as well.

A quick search for “relaxing videos” brought him to nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds of a variety of items being smashed in a hydraulic press. It was morbidly relaxing, watching dozens of toys and household items ooze out from under the press. (Just because he’d promised his mother not to break anything anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching someone else destroy lit candles and jelly stress toys with heavy machinery.)

Rey still wasn’t home. Her client wasn’t that much of a taskmaster, were they?

A related link under the hydraulic press video led him to twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds of an Eastern European carpet cleaning business giving a deep shampooing to an area rug. It looked clean enough going in, but his jaw dropped in a confused disgust as the carpet shop worker scraped up black suds for six minutes straight. Never did he ever think he would be so grateful for the hardwood flooring in their apartment.

The video ended. 

The apartment remained silent. The arm holding his phone fell back down over his eyes. 

Exhaling, Ben took inventory again. He felt sharper mentally, which was nice, but the layer of fuzz in his mind was replaced with a hollow ache in the left side of his chest. His free hand drifted up to rub at it. Now that he was a bit more mentally relaxed, and focused, he supposed he should probably get up and do something to help relieve the rest of his anxiety. If Poe were here, he’d nag him to go make food. Ben sighed. If Rey were here… 

With a quiet grunt, he shook his head to clear it. Time to get up and make food. (Only after he bookmarked a Japanese nail art video for later, though.)

It wouldn’t be that hard, anyway. The red sauce recipe from the other day had yielded a good amount, so he’d put the rest in a container to save in the fridge. Sitting up, Ben pulled himself back up over the armrest and marched into the kitchen. Not long after, he had the sauce warming on the stove and pasta water salted until it was practically a brine. As it was, the sauce didn’t have any meat, since he’d been more focused on speed the other night. Tonight, however, he had more time. He grabbed the remainder of the guanciale and browned it in a separate pan before mixing it with the sauce. Protein does a tired body good, after all.

Finally, he opened the freezer. Only one serving of pasta remained. 

Perfect. 

Ben was careful to only let the pasta boil for about five minutes or so. Once done, he drained the water out, introduced pasta to sauce, and dished it up. It looked good, he had to admit. 

But he still wasn’t hungry.

(But it wasn’t for him anyway, was it?)

So, he covered it with foil, and cleaned the kitchen. It wasn’t until he was about halfway through writing the note he’d planned to leave before he heard the front door open. Panicked, he crumpled the note and threw them into his room. He muttered a curse as the pen clattered against his desk.

“Ben?” came Rey’s voice. “What was that? You okay?”

“No, yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied, trying and most likely failing to strike a casual pose. “You’re home late.” Leaning against the door frame to his bedroom was casual, right? 

Rey’s response was a groan that really was more of a dull roar.

“That good?”

She heaved a sigh from the entryway. “It’s done, at least. Fingers crossed I never have to work with this client again.” As she finally entered the kitchen space, clearly fatigued with hair everywhere but in its ponytail, her eyes landed on the foil-covered dish before sliding to him. “What about you? What’s this?”

“Oh, that?” He gestured to the dish still sitting on the counter. “It’s nothing, I just had some food leftover from my own dinner earlier and just figured— y’know.” Ben cleared his throat. 

Rey’s features lit up, and he tried to ignore how that dull ache in his chest finally melted away. “Ben,” she said, “this is the third time this week, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear you’re doing this on purpose!”

In all likelihood, she’d meant it as a joke. A tease. Not a knee to the gut. 

Time stopped; the air left his lungs. A thrill ran down his spine at the words “on purpose”. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t make mistakes, not like this. 

Somehow, she was now scant inches away from him. She looked concerned. It took far too much effort to suppress his perverse glee about the idea that _she was worried about him_. It took even more to realize she was speaking to him. 

“Are you okay?” Rey repeated. “You got all pale all of a sudden.” She smirked, not unkindly. “Well, more pale than usual.” 

“I’m fine,” he lied. His throat was tight, and he felt like he was on fire. “Just tired.” 

Rey’s smirk shifted into a worried frown. “You sure?” Before he could object, she reached up and pressed the inside of her wrist to his forehead. She put her other wrist to her own head, and closed her eyes for a few eternities. He couldn’t breathe. As she removed her wrist, she glanced up at him. “You don’t feel feverish, but maybe you should have a lie down?”

Ben nodded. Better to retreat. “You’re probably right. It’s getting late, anyway. Good night?” 

She gifted him another smile before heading back into the kitchen. “Good night, Ben.” 

Safe behind his closed bedroom door, Ben sucked in a few deep, shuddering breaths. Despite the softness and looseness of his clothes, he felt choked. With trembling fingers, he wrenched down the zipper on his hoodie, balled it up, and threw it on the floor next to him. He even kicked it, for good measure. The tremble in his fingers had reached his knees, though, so when he tried taking a step towards his bed he found himself simply lying on the floor on his back instead. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw that it was a text message from Poe: _Rey says you made her dinner, and that you’re acting weird. What gives?_

How—? Right. Finn. 

Ben scrambled up to sit on the edge of his bed before tapping out his response. _Nothing._

Poe sent him back an eye-roll emoji. _You don’t cook for anyone, not even me. And you love me!_

_Do I, though? And maybe I started._

That earned him five more eye-rolls (though his record was twelve). _Except you don’t just change overnight. Also you do know that food is her love language, right?_

Ben did not like where this was going. _So?_

_Oh, Ben. Buddy. My guy,_ read Poe’s response. _You’re terrible at feelings, but we both know you’re not that oblivious._

He swallowed. _Your point?_

_Told ya you’d like her._ Smirk emoji. Sunglasses emoji. Kissy face emoji.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Ben grumbled aloud, growling a bit as he exhaled forcefully. His fingers tightened around his phone, forearm clenched from the effort of not hurling the damn thing at the wall. 

It wasn’t the phone’s fault that Poe was… like that. 

Or that he might be right. 

Placing the phone onto his pillow (an apology for probably almost breaking it from grip strength alone), Ben flung himself backwards onto his mattress. His heel thumped against the bed frame. He glowered at the ceiling, telling himself and his pounding heart _no, God no, absolutely not._

But then he remembered her crinkled little nose as he’d joked with her over her choice in comfort tv. Her efforts to — not to coddle him, or to handle him like broken glass, but to simply acknowledge his flaws and stay anyway. Her insistence that guanciale was “just bacon”.

How categorically darling her unconscious, sleeping sigh had been when he wrapped her in his blanket that night on the couch. 

His breathing was not heavy, it was _not._ Ben brought his hands to his face, pressed the tips of his fingers into the bridge of his nose.

The heat of her, blazing even through their whisper-light touch in the haze of that thunderstorm. 

With a shuddering exhale, he scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to cleanse her from his skin. 

(Her utter delight at being offered even the most simple of meals. He could do better, though, _would_ do better next time—)

Chest heaving, he ripped his hands away and slammed them down onto the duvet, eyes still slinging daggers up at the ceiling.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this side chapter many months ago, but got sidetracked with everything going on. I might have another one eventually... we'll see!
> 
> Thank you for stopping by!

**Author's Note:**

> Minus keeping the broth, I actually do eat instant ramen this way. It was the way my mom made it for me when I was little, and my spouse has definitely teased me about it. Also, Ben's coffee-making tics are also my spouse's coffee preferences. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!


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